


I Was Like You

by laijunchen



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Inner Dialogue, M/M, Reflection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laijunchen/pseuds/laijunchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavi and Allen don new personae as easily as new clothing, slipping them off as easily as discarding broken toys. They fall in love in those moments of in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Like You

 

**I Was Like You**

 

 

_She shines in a world full of ugliness,_

_She matters when everything is meaningless._

_Fragile, she doesn_ _’_ _t see her beauty_ _’_

_She tries to get away_

 

 

~~~Lavi, like every Bookman before him, was a little lost, a little fragile, but never _broken_. Never that. If, once, they ever had been it easily became meaningless. Broken minds, broken hearts, broken _lives..._ Each could be cast aside with a new persona, a new war, a new recording. After all, that’s all that lives were, in the end- Recordings. Even their own lives.

And because Bookmen never _knew_ the ugly, never _felt_ the bad, they could not know the _beautiful_ , could not experience the _good_. Until the day that the Bookman apprentice joined the Order -truly _joined_ the Order- he had never known beauty because he had also never known its antithesis. However, the day that Allen had inadvertently shown him the soul of an Akuma Bookman Junior finally saw evil, _knew_ the bad, the _wrong_. He finally, fully _felt_ sorrow, _felt_ hatred, and anger…and pity.

Now that he saw, that he understood, he knew he couldn’t be quite the same as those Bookmen before him, not quite the same as his mentor. Thus, he was now Lavi. Completely _Lavi_. And so, all at once, instead of parchment and ink, the great record in progress that was The Destroyer of Time, _Allen Walker_ came into focus in the foreground and Lavi finally witnessed true _beauty, as well._

 

 

_Sometimes it_ _’_ _s just that nothing seems worth saving_

_I can_ _’_ _t watch her slip away_

 

 

As a Bookman-to-be it had never been part of his job to save anything except a memory of what _others_ saved, a recording of what _others_ lost or gained. And that had always been fine because, just as he had never experienced negative and positive feelings on a visceral level, Lavi had never possessed the _desire_ to save. After all, there was nothing of humanity, those ever war torn creatures, _worth_ saving. Just ink and paper.

Not until the Exorcists. But mostly, not until _Allen Walker_.

The moment Lavi _comprehended_ the difference between _attractive_ and _atrocious_ , saw the two as _separate_ and not one wretched whole, he realized how _tired_ he was. He was tired of donning new personae as easily as new clothing- tired of slipping them off as easily as discarding broken toys. He’d noticed a problem (entirely with himself?... he wasn’t sure) before the incident on the Ark (as had Panda-jiji), but hadn’t recognized it and certainly hadn’t realized how _deep_ it ran.

He’d been treading water for so long, unable to decide on land or the ship. The land was assured safety, a life he’d always known, the path of a destiny he’d marked out for himself so many years ago: The clear path of a Bookman. The ship was- as any appropriate metaphor- _possibilities_ , an uncharted course, an unknowable future: The ever unknown life of an Exorcist, or possibly even that of a simple human. It was a future _drowning_ in things that the older Bookman had taught him were unnecessary in his life. It was that metaphorical _flood_ in which he now tread with those very same unknowns trying to pull him under.

"Bookman have no need of a heart, Lavi."

 

 

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart_

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart (x2)_

 

 

~~~The Bookman apprentice was one of the first swaths of color in his gray life, one of the first rays of light, and by far the brightest. Allen did not know why this was so, but he didn’t care. Lavi was red: the color of passion and blood, of love and fire, of temptation and celebration. Lavi was a radiant flame against the mellow blues, purples, greens, and yellows- the calming, caring colors of his other comrades and the Order. Lavi was a fiery light amid the black, the shades of gray, and the very _lack_ of color of 'white' that were the Earl, Cross, Central, and the Church. There were other colors that danced in flame, to be sure, but the red always won out.

            When they had first met Lavi had been what a lit match was to his Innocence's ‘Fire Stamp.’And because Allen also had been naught but his own invented persona for so long, and a killer card shark and liar besides, he could tell every sincere smile from the fake.

            He instinctively _knew_ every word left unsaid, could detect every white lie and those born of necessity. He did not, however, begrudge Lavi his privacy or his secrets.

            They all had secrets. They all had secrets like his dream of Lenalee presiding over the end of the world, as well as his own death, and the rise of the Fourteenth. There were many secrets like Lenalee’s: dark, completely heartfelt, and rather justified, just as her wish for the death of Malcolm C. Leverrier was. They kept secrets as astonishing as Kanda’s constant fear and hatred- that of both the meaning of his life and that of his death. Secrets as depressing as Miranda and Krowley's simple wishes for acceptance and purpose. Secrets as sweet and sincere as Lavi’s growing love for his comrades.

            Everyone in the world had secrets. The only problem with the secrets of those so deeply involved in this hidden war, as the Exorcists were, was that, all by themselves, their secrets could kill. They festered and ate away at a little piece of the heart and mind everyday. They tore their keepers apart from the inside out and were just as damaging as, if not more so than, the Akuma that those same Exorcists destroyed.

And Allen knew that Lavi was finally falling apart. Because he had also possessed a number of personae, he understood that Lavi could leave behind his quickly cracking shell and don a new one. The very idea always reminded Allen of the Hermit Crab: a new shell whenever they outgrew or ruined the previous one. And from that line of thought the white-haired boy always found amusement- because Lavi’s hair was just the same shade of red as a crab, of a cooked crab, at least. And following the humor, Allen knew he could not give Lavi up. He could not give him up to the Church, or the Akuma, or the Earl, or even to Bookman. Because, from the humor true joy was born and continued on to nurture admiration, and longing, and, finally, _love_.

He didn’t have to worry about Bookman because he could see that Lavi was in too deep, his _true_ emotions too strong to allow him to abandon them. He didn't care about the Church or what it thought because the Church had never been his motivation for fighting this war. The Akuma and the Earl were superfluous- they were a part of their daily lives as it was and Allen already made sure to take the brunt of everything for everyone. He couldn’t help his nature.

But Lavi had been one of the first and had become _the_ _greatest_ color in his life and he could not let that die. Ever. He would rather face down all thirteen Noah on his own, on top of his own, if it meant keeping Lavi in one piece. If it meant keeping Lavi safe from his secrets. If it meant keeping Lavi from falling apart. And by the end of these thoughts, Allen had madea new secret all his own.

 

 

_She reads the minds of all the people as they pass her by_

_Hoping someone will see_

_If I could fix myself I would die_

_But it_ _’_ _s too late for me_

 

 

            Secrets…If one truly, _thoroughly,_ retraced Allen’s life they would see that, in the end, he didn’t have all that many secrets. Not compared to what Kanda had _suffered_ , the things that Lavi had _seen_ , and the feelings Lenalee would _never_ voice aloud. He gave of himself freely, but never an ounce more than what was asked for. And yet…none of them could _see_. None of them, not even Lavi, thought to look beyond the façade that he offered them.

Everyone thought him naïve and adorably oblivious. Could they not _comprehend_ what his life had been like _before_ Mana, or even what it had been while _with_ the destitute wanderer? Did they forget his apprenticeship to Cross, or that a consequence of said apprenticeship was that he now had a nearly _split personality_ they themselves had dubbed ‘Black Allen?’

            He was _not_ naïve and innocent. He was not made up everything sweet, and charming, and _good_. None of them were, not really. Because they fought, and killed, and sacrificed, and _died_ for a living. And because they all loathed _every~single~moment_ of their ‘duty’there was not one of them that did not own a personally manufactured persona or two- or however many it took for them to keep going.

            Therefore, there were none that were safe from Allen’s private scrutiny. It was even easier for Allen to get inside people’s heads than it was for Lavi, or even Bookman himself. Not because they didn’t like or trust Bookman and his apprentice, but because Allen Walker was looked up to, he was _admired_ , he was unequivocally _relied_ upon. Because even when he was quiet he always gave off the feeling of _being there_ , of sincerity, care, and true concern. They did not doubt the ‘truth’of any of this. They didn’t want to because, above all other ‘ _truths_ ,’they were certain that Allen Walker would be their savior.

And even as they slowly began to realize how perceptive Allen was, how much it damn near seemed that their comrade could _read_ their _minds_ , they never thought a jot beyond that vague feeling that that's what he might actually be doing. They never thought that maybe he knew what they were going through, what they were feeling and _thinking_ , because there was simply no way he had already been through nearly the same scenario. They never thought that maybe their darling, sweet, kind Allen could have been through anything more horrific than what they lived through now. They never thought that maybe the abused orphan, or the wandering clown-apprentice, or the exorcist-slave-apprentice had ever been, _could_ have ever been in such a state that he wished for nothing more than that someone could _see,_ could help carry his burdens, could share his pain, exactly the same as they themselves wished.

Just as he thought of Lavi as _red_ , they thought Allen Walker to be far too _bright_ to ever have experienced anything so terribly tragic as what they lived day-in and day-out. After all, how could he be their savior if he had ever been tainted so? How could a teenage boy survive what would make the rest of them not just break but shatter beyond any possible repair? And with such a line of reasoning Allen realized that while they claimed that they believed in him, that they were _sure_ he would save them, they never _truly_ thought him to be strong enough to do so. And, suddenly, Allen wished that he really was as oblivious and naive as they all believed.

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart_

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart (x2)_

 

 

            ~~~Allen Walker was clever and manipulative, strong and reliable, frightening and kind. And Lavi was sure that if he was a normal, or, at least, a normal _-ish,_ human being that this is the kind of person he would have looked for to be his life partner, his perfect mate. Mind you, Lavi did love women, a great deal, but when you have a life like that of a Bookman, or an Exorcist, or _both_ , your views on a great many things might change. They _will_ change. It was unavoidable. And being the easy going person that he was, Lavi didn’t mind the change much at all, especially since it had been Allen himself that had first shown him good and evil, beautiful and ugly. After such an enlightening experience as this, one was not likely to ever forget the creature responsible for their vision.

            Lavi still believed that he was treading water, between the metaphorical land and ship. But he’d already made a choice. He just hadn’t _quite_ realized it yet- despite his actions.

Allen thought... well, Allen was indeed very good at reading people. Perhaps the younger Exorcist was better at picking apart people than himself, but that didn’t make him obsolete. It was just that Allen didn’t give him enough credit because Lavi didn’t wish him too. It was, fortunately or unfortunately, part of the ' _Lavi'_ that was his current persona.

            In the end it didn’t much matter. Lavi had already fallen for Allen Walker. No one could help almost anything they did once they’d fallen (in any sense of the word 'fallen') for the cursed, young Exorcist. And most everyone fell for him, in one way or another, eventually. Resistance was entirely futile. It wasn’t because there was no other path for any to follow, or because there wasn’t a better way. It was _simply_ because his way almost always turned out best. And even if it didn't…well, they’d follow him just the same.

Everyone named him their _savior_ , simultaneously doubting him, yet still trusting in all he did. How could Allen Walker ever fail? ‘Failure’was a word that Allen Walker refused to ever use, a word he refused to ever accept.

            So it was no wonder, that for all he worried about everyone else, he was also falling to pieces, just like the rest of the Exorcists. He could neither be faulted for the crack in his façade, nor could he be faulted for the break in his faith.

Allen Walker possessed faith in his mission and in _himself_ , but relied on others, if only because they asked him to. What the _hell_ was he to do when those other people began to doubt _him_ , his _strength,_ his _resolve_ …his very _loyalty_? What was he to _do_?

Lavi didn’t care what was supposed to be done, what anyone _should_ do. It didn’t matter to one who had been of Bookmen. Allen was all that was left and Lavi fully intended to save him from everything. _Everything_. Whether that ‘everything’included words or force of arms... well, Lavi no longer cared. There was only what was truly _right_ and _Allen Walker_ \- and they were bloody well synonymous in Lavi’s mind.

Allen had begun to fall apart not long after he had- not long after the incident in the Ark. And just as Allen realized that Lavi was not the same as what he presented to everyone else, Lavi understood that Allen was neither the same person, nor was he in any way _treated_ as the same person.

But…Lavi had _been_ there and Allen… _Allen Walker_ was just the _same_ as he’d _always_ been. Lavi refused to believe that if _his_ Allen had known anything about the Noah, that if he had had any knowledge or power beyond what _everyone_ was aware of that he would have used it to save his fellows in an instant. He refused to believe that if Allen had been capable of saving the Ark from collapse any sooner that he would _ever_ have made his most beloved comrades _die_ in the process- in any process! The very idea was inconceivable!

Yet Central thought differently. They _thought_ only according to _betrayal_ , and _unfounded_ heresy, and everything that went against, or even _with,_ their ‘holy’beliefs. The Church and its _sacred_ Central were above all reproach, no matter what they did. There was nothing that could touch them.

Except Allen Walker. Because _Allen Walker_ was a _saint_ in his own right- despite whatever anyone said (including himself), whatever he had done or thought, and beyond anything he’d been accused of. It was just that _the Church_ refused to be so kind- regardless of what their own _Bible_ said they should do. It was, very simply, that the Church and Central were completely illogical and completely _insane_. Common sense seemed to have been lost in their cause.

And still, all of these things were irrelevant to Lavi. Allen was _his_. If for no other reason than that they _understood_ each other. Quite pleasantly, that really wasn’t the only reason. Though, somehow, reasons were irrelevant. Allen was his _,_ end of story. _Allen_ had opened his eyes to a world wider than that of ‘Bookman,’and ink and paper, and fake personalities. _Allen_ had given him a life, a real _life_ as well as the desire to possess one, and he could _never_ let that fall apart.

_We_ _’_ _ll find a perfect place to go where we can run and hide_

_I_ _’_ _ll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side_

 

 

            Sadly, being attached to the younger Exorcist meant being attached to the Akuma, and the Earl and, therefore, the Church and _Central_. It meant that it was everyone else’s job to protect the determined, fool of a boy from the things that hunted him as he saved the world. It meant that Lavi, instead of building personae, now had to build walls: walls of defense, walls of secrecy, of lies and excuses. Walls made of whatever was necessary to protect Allen Walker- not from the demons that he fought _for_ , but from the demons that _employed_ him, the demons that claimed to be on the side of God.

            Walls were the only thing any of them could do for The Destroyer of Time because there was no way that he would ever abandon the side of those he was taught, of those he truly _wished_ to believe, would help save mankind and, in the process, the Akuma.

Allen Walker would never run and he would never hide. Not from anything. He couldn’t help his nature.

In the end, Lavi imagined that it would all be worth it. He liked to imagine that after the war they could build the kind of walls that were truly _steadfast_ , that would be able to keep all the bad things away from Allen forever.

And while there was no assurance of their victory, no assurance that any of them, _especially_ Allen Walker, would live to see the end of the war, and most assuredly no reason to believe that any of them would be sane, would be in _one piece_ if they _did_ survive…Lavi began plans for those final walls, anyhow. Because no matter how important everything else was that he’d learned from Allen, the most important lesson had been Hope.

 

 

_It_ _’_ _s something I have to do_

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart_

_I was like you_

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart_

 

 

            In the end, that was all any of them could do, really- try to accomplish the impossible. In then end that’s all that their war was: an ongoing lesson in futility. A lesson they intended to turn on its head- a feat not likely attainable, they knew. But Allen was determined. A determined, hopeful fool. And Allen knew that just being around them, by hoping for them, fighting for them, comforting them, and simply refusing to give up, or letting anyone else give up, they all became a bit more like himself. They became soldiers more in 'Allen Walker's war' than in the Church’s war. And his comrades were all content with that.

            Before Allen Walker they had little reason for hope. Things hadn’t changed because they thought he had the power to win the war on his own. They didn’t think he had all the answers. They didn’t think he could save all of them, save every Akuma and every innocent. They _knew_ he couldn’t do all of the things needed on his own. But suddenly they knew that if they supported him, if they followed him, if they simply believed in him, that there was a chance. In that way, with little more than his presence and his smile, he brought hope to the Order and the Exorcists as they hadn’t had. Ever.

            Allen had realized this fairly early on in his official employment with the Order. There was an odd, haunted feeling that permeated the very walls of the Order and followed many of the occupants as their own shadows. The youngest Exorcist knew that he couldn't abandon these people, couldn't leave them to turn into ghosts of themselves because of this war. Without even realizing it, Allen had decided that he would fix their every woe, if for no other reason than because he was tired of seeing his reflexion and his dreams and nightmares in the faces of the rest of the world.

            No matter how badly Allen felt about the fact that having the older boy tied to himself meant simultaneously tying him to all the ugly things he fought and endured, Allen's gratitude always outshone the guilt. Besides, it couldn’t really be helped. As much as he wished he could take the entire war onto his shoulders and shield everyone from it at the same time he was not that delusional. Allen was aware that, despite his sincerest efforts, the war was far too much for even him to endure alone. He knew this and tried to manage the impossible, anyways.

            They- his friends, mentors, and comrades- would always be worth it. Lavi was worth it, worth every extra ounce of 'sweat, blood, and tears.' Allen supposed that part of it- of _them_ was their similarities, but he knew that the rest of it was everything they didn't share, in one or another, but could understand and empathize with, all the same. There was some queer, silent accord between them that stated that what one hadn't experienced or couldn't relate to, the other would share and teach regardless of whether or not those lessons were painful. Once they were finally, _finally_ , together it was as if this sort of mutual instruction was something they had to do.

            And Allen was overwhelmingly happy for it. He knew that he'd spent too many years on his own. He'd spent most of his life keeping things as close to himself as possible for fear of losing them or of others trying to take them away. Yet, with Lavi everything was an exchange, equal give and take. With Lavi the only fear Allen possessed was of losing his flame-haired love. That, at least, was a fear he could battle, a fear he could always fight against because now those ' _secret_ ' enemies were at least visible.

 

 

_Before everything else_

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart_

_I was like you_

_I won_ _’_ _t let you fall apart_

 

 

            And with Lavi at his side he could share the war with confidence in his partner. He would still worry, to be sure, he always would, but he couldn't fight his nature. Now, however, the worry did in fact come more from his very nature than from true concern. No matter how likely, how high the probability of his death, Allen finally had a partner that he did not fear would easily leave his side, even in the face of the Earl and death. Because despite how fragile the red-head's emotions may have been, the personae of Lavi had been made strong enough to share in anything that Allen might have to confront.

            With Lavi, not a simple persona, but truly _Lavi,_ at his side he could finally share his heart as well.

 

 

_At one point or another, all of the Exorcists had been as Allen was before he met Mana: lost, angry, afraid, despairing. After Allen Walker those things began to fade away. For Kanda it was strength and determination. For Miranda and Krory it was understanding and a hand extended in friendship: acceptance. For Lenalee it was optimism and promises kept._

_For Lavi it had been far beyond any of that. Those things were appreciated, to be sure, but Allen had gifted Lavi with something greater than anything else he so easily gave of himself. Lavi was given the whole. Others were given pieces, but Lavi had been offered all of the white-haired boy and, greedy as he'd become, he had taken every inch. He consumed Allen Walker one morsel at a time and Allen was more than fine with that._


End file.
